Chapter - 22 Eyes on the Wrong Prey
The crooked roofs of the village finally broke through the treeline.
"Ahhh… finally," Max groaned, rolling his shoulders. "I was starting to think this wretched place was a myth."
"Seriously," Alex muttered with a smirk, his voice dripping mockery. "These people should put up signs or something. Otherwise, no one's ever finding this backwater hole."
Their steady pace carried them through the narrow, dirt-caked streets until the squat, weather-worn guild hall came into view. Inside, the escort mission was quickly wrapped up, the receptionist counting out the agreed payment onto the counter.
Just as the silver was about to be split evenly, Max stepped forward, palm raised.
"Nah, ah… Miss Lirael will only be getting five silver. The rest's for me and Alex."
Aina's brow furrowed instantly. "What do you mean? We didn't even run into a single monster!"
Max tilted his head, voice dripping with smug logic. "Exactly. That's because me and Alex led the way—kept our eyes open, made sure nothing got near you. You think that kind of watch comes cheap?"
Alex leaned lazily against the counter, but his eyes were fixed on Lirael with the kind of grin that made skin crawl. "Tell you what—if you don't mind keeping me company tonight, I'll hand you my share."
For the first time, Lirael's gaze flicked toward him, cold and flat. Her knuckles tightened imperceptibly against the coins she'd already taken, but her voice was steady, almost bored.
"Not happening. Don't even think about it."
She swept the coins from the counter in one clean motion and turned for the door.
Alex chuckled under his breath, but there was a faint edge to it, like he didn't quite like the way she'd looked at him. "One day or another, you'll be desperate to end up in my arms!"
Aina shot him a glare sharp enough to cut steel. Lirael didn't slow, didn't look back—the door slammed shut behind her, the faintest tremor in the wood as if it had been pushed harder than she intended.
Max and Alex laughed between themselves, but neither noticed the lingering silence that followed, or how the receptionist's eyes trailed the door with a flicker of something almost like pity.
Max strolled over to the guild's quest board, hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes scanned the faded parchments tacked up in uneven rows.
"Hmm… what's this?" he muttered. "Didn't they say some goblin 'king' had shown up? Why's it so empty?"
Alex chuckled, plucking a notice off the board and flicking it back carelessly. "Yeah… and look at these payouts. How many goblin subjugation quests would you even need to stack up to make it worth the trouble?" He snorted. "Like I said—some overgrown hobgoblin, that's all. People love exaggerating."
A sharp tsk sounded from behind them. They turned to see a broad-shouldered adventurer leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, his expression sour.
"You two new around here?" he asked, though his tone carried more annoyance than curiosity. "That board's empty because there's this one E-ranked bastard who sweeps it clean like he's mopping a floor." The man shook his head in disgust. "Strength-wise, I'd put him in upper C-rank at least. But the guild can't touch him. Apparently, when he registered, he skipped F-rank altogether—straight to E. And now…" He clicked his tongue again, muttering under his breath. "Pretty damn sure he's an Awakener. What the hell's he even doing in this backwater place, choking the rest of us out of a living?"
Max's brows rose slightly, but a smirk tugged at his lips. "An Awakener, huh? In this dump? Now that's interesting."
The rough adventurer pushed off the pillar and walked away, muttering under his breath.
Max's eyes lingered on the quest board, but his mind was already turning over the details. An E-rank with upper C-rank strength? Being an Awakener himself, he knew how that could happen—someone dumping every single point into Strength, letting the rest of their stats rot at human average. Unbalanced, sure, but nasty if you got in their range.
Three months since his own awakening, and he'd climbed to C-rank a month ago—solid progress for someone average by Awakener standards. Level seven now, with most of his points sunk into Strength and Agility. Enough to hit hard and move fast.
If this mystery adventurer was as lopsided as he suspected, then it wasn't skill making them dangerous—it was raw, brutish power.
Interesting, Max thought, a faint grin tugging at his mouth.
"Eh, doesn't matter," Alex said with a casual wave, a smirk curling his lips. "Even if this guy's got the muscles of an ogre, he's still just E-rank trash. You're a C-rank Awakener, Max. You'd crush him without breaking a sweat."
Max didn't reply, though his grin deepened slightly.
Alex leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "You're already miles ahead of any wannabe muscle-head. Hell, you've got brains and speed to go with your strength. This guy's probably just another lump of meat swinging a club. Stick to what you're doing, and there's not a soul in this dump who could touch you."
It was pure flattery—Max knew it—but he didn't mind hearing it.
Max let out a short, satisfied hum.
"Hmph… I know I'm the best. Let's go for a sightseeing and see if this place has something to offer."
The girls just sighed, exchanging a glance, before turning away to look for Liraen.
---
400… 401… 402…
Ding!
+0.1 Strength
"Phew…" Ethan exhaled, sweat streaming down his jaw as he lowered the longsword. His arms felt like lead, his grip trembling. "I guess I need a new and heavier sword for swings… The stat gains are getting less and less."
The past week had been nothing but grind. Pure, relentless grind. Hunting goblins in the morning, sometimes pushing through the night if the moonlight was clear enough. In between, he'd realized something important—physical training worked. Swinging his sword wasn't just practice; it gave him stats. And if swinging worked, why stop there?
Every dawn and dusk, he ran until his lungs burned, practiced vertical slashes until his shoulders screamed, balanced in handstands until his arms shook, and threw in anything else he could to push his body past its limits. It paid off—not just in raw numbers, but in skill. His [Basic Longsword Technique] had climbed from beginner's edge to intermediate mastery, now resting at a precise 47%.
By level 5, he'd unlocked a new magic skill—[Fire Ball]. Weak, sure, but still magic. He'd also claimed stat points and SP from the system's quests.
Now, his status looked like this:
---
SYSTEM INTERFACE
> Name: Ethan Cross (27)
Race: Human (Awakened)
Legacy: [Forgotten Empire] (partial unlock)
Title: [None]
Talent: [Will of the Crown]
Elemental Affinities: [All Elements] (Max Affinities – Tier 10)
---
Level: 6 (336 / 6430)
Unassigned Stat Points: 8
Base Stats (Average Human Male = 1)
Strength: 13.7
Vitality: 11.8
Constitution: 12.4
Agility: 10.6
Stamina: 15.2
Intelligence: 12.5
Mana: 9.9
Skills:
[Magic Arrow] – 1% Mastery (Basic)
[Basic Longsword Technique] – 47% Mastery (Intermediate)
[Fire Ball] – 1% Mastery (Basic) — a small, unstable sphere of condensed flame, barely larger than a fist. It flickers like a candle in wind, weak in power and prone to dispersing if not focused properly.
SP: 14,440
Balance: 2 Gold, 40 Silver, 12 Bronze, 70 Copper
---
"Hmm… looks good." Ethan's lips curled faintly. "Now I should be able to hunt an ogre solo… Looks like I'll be getting rich in this raid. Let's go."
Then another thought struck him. Now that we're at it… I should look into magic skills. I've ignored it far too long.
His gaze shifted to a nearby tree. He raised his palm and focused, pulling at the faint thread of mana running through his body. It gathered in his fingertips like warm mist, swirling and condensing into a shimmering, translucent arrow. The air around it wavered slightly from the mana's pressure.
With a sharp exhale, Ethan thrust his palm forward.
The arrow hissed through the air, cutting a straight line before striking the tree with a muted thwip. The bark split slightly, and the arrow sank about an inch, maybe two, before dispersing into faint motes of light.
[Magic Arrow] – 2% Mastery (Basic)
"Hmm… seems doable," he murmured. "If my proficiency improves, the damage should follow."
A laugh broke through the quiet.
"See that? He calls it doable!" The voice was mocking, loud enough to carry.
Another voice joined in, equally derisive. "Really… this place is such a backwater. Look at him—pleased over shooting a weak-ass mana arrow. Hahaha!"
"Max, you don't need to worry about shit," the first voice said, full of smug certainty. "No one can touch you."
"Damn right," Max replied, sounding pleased.
Their footsteps crunched over the dirt as they strolled away, still chuckling.
Ethan blinked, the amusement fading from his face.
"…What the fuck?" he muttered. "What was that for?"